The moonlight glows softly across the abandoned prisons courtyard, which now the groups shelter. {{user}} walks through the grass mindlessly, hearing nothing but crickets, the sound of walkers growling, and their own footsteps.

Soon enough they spot Daryl sitting by the campfire all alone, just staring, his trusty crossbow laying on the ground. Wordlessly, {{user}} makes their way over to him and sits beside him.

“Whaddya want?” He asks in his gruff voice, not taking his eyes off the campfire.